Like a Child
by VeneficaMelody
Summary: A moment when Rogue begins to get to know Logan as more than just a teammate.


We never truly grow out of the feelings of childhood: wanting to be loved, held, touched, paid attention to. In these ways, wanting these things, we remain children. But I cannot have the touch that others take for granted -- I am the Rogue. I remain a prisoner in this body of poison skin. One of the few outlets for my stress is harmless flirtation. I have the looks, so why not use them?

As long as I never cross the line to touch, there is no harm to my subject. But the stress-reliever I prefer most is bashing a few heads in. It's the reason I joined the X-Men. Gives me a legitimate reason to use my strength against a foe that can actually be taken down -- not like the unending curse of my "powers" that never goes away.

But tonight there is no battle to be fought. That's why I stand outside a bar, jerking my gloves into place. Don't want to absorb the memories of a drunk. The smoky atmosphere perfectly matches my mood; it's why I picked this place. I stand in the doorway, looking for a target. Before my perusal of the room is finished, my eyes land on a familiar figure seated at the bar. Wonder why the noxious scent of his cigar didn't alert me sooner?

No good prospects here, so I head over and slide onto the stool next to him. I order a drink from the bartender, my voice drawing the man's attention. He gives me a desultory look, taking a drag on his cigar. He doesn't speak, and nor do I. We both have our demons -- I suppose tonight we decided to exorcise them at the same place.

The Wolverine is drawn here to drown his sorrows in drink; I come to lose myself by acting like a normal woman. Looks like we'll both be drinking over selves to oblivion tonight. Honestly, I'd prefer to be fighting, but the burn of the alcohol as it passes down my throat is welcome.

A shout and a crash at the back of the room. Looks like someone was cheating at pool. Before long, it turns into a free for all. I crack my neck before jumping into the fray. I don't have to look; I know that Logan will be right behind me. My gloves ensure that I can bloody some noses without my mutant powers coming into play.

The tail of my long jacket swirls around my legs as I break the kneecap of a nearby brawler with the heel of my boot. He was a brawny man, battering a boy that couldn't be far past drinking age. Might as well give the boy a fair chance; looks like he didn't even want to be part of this fight.

Logan is in the corner, taking care of a man who apparently thought his size meant he wouldn't last in a fight. That man knows better now. Kneecap Boy has a friend; he's coming toward me. Looks like he figured a pool cue would be a good advantage. Fool. I easily disarm him, dropping him on the grimy floor next to the first.

"Mutie! Freak!" Aw, hell. Logan's anger got the best of him and he popped the claws. After a few shows of bravado, this bar will be empty after the fear burns off their alcohol high. It was a good fight, short-lived, but somehow I regret that I didn't get a cute stranger to smile at me.

I back Logan up, although he doesn't need it. "Freaks gotta stick together, eh?" I say to his less than pleased look.

"Ruined a perfectly good beer," is his answer.

I laugh as we leave the bar together. Same old Wolverine. He never minds a fight, especially one where he's the winner. I was never attracted to his type before, but suddenly, looking at him in the dim light, my laughter still on my lips, I feel a crippling jolt of regret that I am unable to invite him to my bed. I have absorbed his memories before, and know that he loves a ghost. So even if we could touch, his heart wouldn't be in it. It only be sex -- a physical release. But I don't care for him that way, so why should it matter?

My thoughts are interrupted, thankfully, by my companion's growl of irritation. We have stopped by his motorcycle, and he digs into his pockets. "Damn idiots made me drop my keys." He moves to reenter the bar, but I grab his arm. The warmth of his flesh sears through my protective gloves.

"Don'tcha think it's a little too soon to be goin' back, sugar?" I keep my voice soft; I don't want to anger him any further.

"I need the damn keys," he growls.

"How 'bout I fly us both home, and you collect the keys after we've all calmed down?" It's a spur of the moment suggestion. I flew here myself; it's not like I have a car to give him a ride in.

I don't know how I succeeded in allowing Logan's sense of male pride to let me carry him back to the mansion, but it happened. All the while, he promises a swift revenge if anything happens to his bike. I listen wordless, humoring him like a tired mother. And, like a child, I try to hold him close without being too obvious; wanting that contact that is normally denied to me. Oddly, the clinging scent of his cigars doesn't bother me as the miles are crossed through the sky.

His grumbling amuses me -- clearly trying to convince his pride he had no choice but to allow this aberration. "You better land us where no one can see, girl."

"What's the story, then? You took the bus?" I know Logan would never admit to that, just as he would never admit to allowing me to ferry him home. As the grounds of the estate come into view, I take a long moment to savor the feeling of someone in my arms. Who knows when I'll have it again, or ever?

As my feet near the ground, it's like a fuse was lit under Wolverine. He jumps from my arms, landing heavily on the ground as he turns from me. "Thanks for the ride," he says gruffly. He walks off into the dark, and I stare at his retreating back. He might be sort of rough, but he isn't so bad.

I'm proud to be part of a team with the Wolverine. We fight well side by side, and sometimes, we can even share a lonely night. I grin to myself as I head toward the mansion. It's not so bad, this curse of mine, as long as I have good friends to remind me what really matters.


End file.
